


Sunrise

by Rawrbin



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Fights, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, JayDick Summer Exchange, M/M, Makeup, Makeup Sex, Minor Violence, Pining, Self-Doubt, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawrbin/pseuds/Rawrbin
Summary: Dick lies still on the bed next to him. He's hard to make out in the darkness of the room but Jason can see the steady rise and fall of his chest. He's sleeping peacefully. Jason always sleeps in fits and starts, waking up with a cold sweat or a scream on his lips.That's why he can't stay here. He doesn't want to disturb the other man's rest, not when he only has a few short hours left of it before he has to get up and go to his day job.At least that's the excuse Jason gives himself so he can feel a little bit less pathetic as he sneaks out.-Dick and Jason are friends with benefits. Dick wants something more, while Jason's self-doubts have him running away. What happens when Dick finally gives him an ultimatum?For JayDick Summer Exchange 2020
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 13
Kudos: 264
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostandlonelybirds (RUNNFROMTHEAK)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK/gifts).



The sun will be up soon. 

Outside the sky is still pitch black but Jason's spent enough time out at night that he can tell. The air has shifted, the sound of nightlife has quieted, and the soft rustling of early birds is just beginning. So he knows it won't be long until the sun rises. And Jason needs to be long gone before that happens. 

Dick lies still on the bed next to him. He's hard to make out in the darkness of the room but Jason can see the steady rise and fall of his chest. He's sleeping peacefully. Jason always sleeps in fits and starts, waking up with a cold sweat or a scream on his lips. 

That's why he can't stay here. He doesn't want to disturb the other man's rest, not when he only has a few short hours left of it before he has to get up and go to his day job. 

At least that's the excuse Jason gives himself so he can feel a little bit less pathetic as he prepares to sneak out. 

The pieces of his uniform lay scattered around the room where they were tossed earlier in a passionate frenzy. Despite his size, Jason hurries around the dark room on light feet, collecting his discarded garments in near silence. That was at least one good trick he’d gained from his time working under Batman. He rushes to get redressed; the longer he stays in this room the more stifling it seems to become. The threat of sunlight is imminent and if it touches him he might be irreparably burned. 

"Are you leaving already?" a sleep-addled voice calls out to him, just as he’s about to make his escape. 

Jason's grip tightens on the wood of the window frame. Part of him longs to throw it open and disappear without a word. The more logical part of him knows that will be like tossing a match at a powder-keg. Better to upset Dick as little as possible.

"Yeah. I've gotta take off." 

Jason has nowhere to be and they both know it. 

"Oh, okay."

It's barely a whisper and Dick has no right to make those three small syllables sound as sorrowful as he does. He won’t miss Jason once he’s left. Still, his chest feels tight with guilt as he gets his leg through the window and out onto the fire escape. 

"I'll see you next time then."

Jason hates how he can hear the tinge of hope coursing through the statement. 

"Yeah, next time," he replies and gently shuts the window behind him. 

There won't be a next time. Jason's sure of it. Just the same as he was sure of it the last time he'd left Dick's apartment in the middle of the night. And the time before that. And before that. 

Jason is weak and he knows it. 

Still, this time he is sure. He has to stay away, for Dick's sake. Is Jason a good fuck? Yeah. But that's all he is. He's no good for someone as honest and loving and morally straight as Dick Grayson. All he will do is taint him. He can't let himself get attached. He can't let _Dick_ get attached. 

That's why this night was the last and he's absolutely not going to let himself tumble into Dick Grayson's bed or his life again. 

Jason should have known better. 

Dick Grayson was a black hole that pulled everything towards him. Jason had learned long ago that he couldn't escape Dick’s gravity but somehow he keeps tricking himself into thinking that he can. 

It’s less than a week after he’d promised himself he’d stay away that Jason finds himself standing on Dick’s fire escape with a pizza box in his hand. He doesn’t really have any excuse for this. He'd already admitted he was weak. After only a moment’s hesitation, he’s shoving the window up and clamoring into Dick’s unkempt bedroom. The sound of a shower running greets his ears and Jason thinks Dick should really pay more attention to things like locking his window when he’s naked and vulnerable in the next room. Who knows what kind of lowlife might come crawling in? 

Belatedly, Jason wonders how much that question applies to himself. 

Making himself at home he heads into the small living room. He clears days-old cereal bowls from the coffee table and sets down the pizza box before heading to the kitchen to toss the bowls in the sink and grab some beers from the fridge. There’s not much else inside besides a carton of milk and something in glass containers that were definitely pushed on Dick by Alfred. 

When he heads back to the living room he’s greeted by the sight of a shower-fresh Dick Grayson with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Little Wing,” he greets him, a blinding smile on his face. “I thought I smelled pizza. You always know just what I need.” 

Dick sits down on the couch and practically becomes one with it the way his body sinks down into the cushions. Jason can’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes as he reaches out to grab a gooey slice from the box. Jason passes him a beer to go with it. 

“You look tired,” he points out before taking a sip of his own beer. Because stating the obvious is much easier than actually expressing his concern. 

Dick’s arm pauses, pizza slice halfway to his mouth, and he looks up at Jason with mild surprise. A bit of cheese drips off the slice and down onto his towel. The surprised look transforms quickly into one that Jason has long ago dubbed the “Dickie Wayne” smile. It may fool air-headed socialites but Jason knows it’s completely fake. 

“I’m fine Little Wing, don’t worry about me. I’ve just been a little busy, that’s all.”

“You sure?” 

Because Jason knows Dick. Knows that he feels obligated to shoulder every burden with a smiling face. Knows that he isn’t going to open up without some extra prompting. 

“Yeah, it’s nothing, just...” the fake smile drops and the lines of exhaustion reclaim Dick’s face. “B’s working on this big case so he sent over some files to help him go through. Between that and my own cases, I’ve been spread a little thin.” 

Typical Bruce. He doesn’t care if he’s running his own son ragged as long as the _mission_ is completed. 

“I can help you take a look at them if you want.” he offers. Someone’s gotta look out for Dickiebird after all. 

“Oh, no, thanks Jay, but that’s fine. You don’t have to.” 

The cocktail party grin is back. Jason scowls. 

“I’m serious Dick, what’s the harm in letting me help? You don’t always have to do everything yourself you know. Besides, having a fresh set of eyes might be useful.” 

“Yeah, I know Jay,” he says, looking away from Jason and suddenly seeming to find the pizza box very interesting. “And I appreciate the offer. You know how Bruce is about these things though. I shouldn’t show them to anyone who’s not… I shouldn’t show them to anyone without his permission. You understand.” 

_Shouldn’t show them to anyone who’s not family_ , Jason’s brain fills in for him. Shouldn’t show them to the disappointment who Bruce wishes had never come back from the dead and who he definitely doesn't consider a son. 

Jason downs the rest of his beer. 

“Right, got it.” 

Dick’s mouth is strained tight, as if he wants to say something else, but eventually he just digs into the cheesy pizza slice without a word. Jason grabs a slice as well. He’s not bitter. He couldn’t care less what Bruce thought of him. Or what Dick thinks of Bruce. 

For the next few minutes the apartment is filled with nothing but the soft sound of chewing only punctuated once by the click of Jason popping open another beer. 

When it finally becomes too much, he grabs the remote and clicks the TV on to break the silence. The conversation flows easier after that when they don’t have to think about their own lives or case files or Bruce fucking Wayne. Instead, Jason comments on how idiotic the contestants on the reality dating show are and Dick chimes in with the ways that _he_ would seduce the host were he a competitor. It's light, easy, comfortable, and within the realm of what Jason knows how to handle. 

Somewhere in the middle of it he finds himself squished up against Dick on the sofa. With only a towel between them and a bunch of horny reality stars setting a good example, it isn’t long before the two of them turn off the TV and tumble into Dick’s bed. Jason shoves him down on his stomach and then fucks into him quick and rough, exactly how he knows Dick needs it right now. 

The older man is practically asleep by the time Jason returns from the bathroom with a wet cloth, exhaustion finally getting the better of him. He pulls Jason down onto the bed next to him, a soft “Good Night, Jay” falling from his lips. 

Jason stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours but sleep doesn’t come to him. He knows he can’t sleep here. He shouldn’t even be here at all but he couldn’t resist seeing Dick again. 

Twisting sideways, he looks over at his sleeping partner. He watches his chest rise and fall evenly and gets a strange sense of deja vu. 

The peaceful expression Dick wears while he's sleeping is a stark contrast to the expression he bears when he's awake, the one which shows the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jason reaches out and smooths his hair away from his face tenderly. 

_You could stay,_ the little voice in the back of his mind whispers. 

Could spend the night. Wake up to soft sunlight streaming in over Dick's face and his warm smile. Make eggs and pancakes for breakfast and then send Dick off to work with a kiss and- 

Jason eyes flicker across the room, already adjusted to the darkness. He sees Dick's uniform, the one for his day job, thrown haphazardly over a chair where he'd undoubtedly rushed to get it off in order to prepare for his night "job" on time. He sees the gun, the one he knows Dick would never use but is standard issue, set only slightly more carefully on the opposite nightstand. 

Jason rips his hand from Dick's hair as if burned and clenches his eyes tight, willing away the last visages of his idiotic fantasy. 

Dick is respectable. He works a real job. He doesn't associate with thugs or lowlifes or drug dealers, unless it's booking them or kicking their asses. He’s adored and respected by his fellow heroes. Bruce trusts him to look at case files. He's never bloodied his hands. No one's ever regretted the fact that he _exists_. 

Jason? He can't say he exactly checks any of those boxes. And he's not going to be the one responsible for soiling everyone's favorite golden boy. 

He knew coming here again was a mistake. 

Jason has one leg in his pants when the figure on the bed stirs. He freezes, willing the other man to go back to sleep. A tired arm reaches out, finding nothing but a warm spot on the sheets. Sapphire eyes flutter open dazedly. 

The peaceful look Jason had been admiring earlier is shattered the moment those eyes catch on him. They flicker down to his half-on pants, and the corners of Dick's mouth turn down while wrinkles form on a furrowed brow. 

"You're leaving again?" he asks, gaze settling on Jason's face. 

Jason hates the way he looks at him. As if he'd just told Dick someone had run over his dog. 

He finishes pulling up his pants and does the buckle. Sometimes actions speak louder than words. 

"Jason, come back to bed." 

Where is Jason's damn jacket? He can't find it anywhere. It shouldn't be so easy to lose something in such a small room. Dick really needs to keep it cleaner. Maybe Jason could help him organi- He spots the jacket hanging from the curtain rod over the window. Right. He needs to leave. Now. 

"Jason!" 

A hand grips his arm and on reflex he grabs it and turns towards his attacker. 

Dick's staring at him with wide eyed shock. Jason let's go immediately. 

"Jason, come on. Just… come back to bed. Please."

His fingers flutter at the edge of Jason's jacket as if he's just waiting for the word so he can peel the thing back off. But Jason can’t stay here. He can’t contaminate Dick any longer. 

“I’ve gotta go.” 

Dick’s expression changes then like a switch being flipped.

“What are we doing here, Jay?” he asks, voice cold. His hand tightens around the front of Jason’s jacket as if he’s worried that Jason might run off. Honestly, Jason might. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replies but it’s a complete lie. He knows what Dick wants. Dick is the kind of man who loves fully and passionately. Who wants and _deserves_ more than just a quick romp between the sheets. Unfortunately, Jason is not the kind of man who can give that to him. 

“Am I just an easy lay to you?” 

”No, that's not-" 

“Then what? I can’t keep doing this Jay. How do you think I feel every time I wake up and you’re not here? If you want to be with me then prove it. Prove I’m more than just a fuck. _Stay_.”

 _Stay_. 

Jason _could_ stay. 

The fantasy of waking up here in the morning light returns, his heart feeling light at the idea of something _more_ with Dick. Then he looks into Dick’s eyes, bright, earnest, and full of hope and Jason knows he’s only going to disappoint him. It’s what he always does. 

Jason can’t stay. He needs to stay _away_. Even though he knows deep down that no matter how hard he tries it won’t be long until he finds himself tumbling into Dick’s bed again, the same as always. 

“Look Goldie, you’re not 'just a fuck', okay? But I gotta go.” 

“You go then you don’t come back. Ever.” 

Jason’s heart squeezes in his chest. Dick’s words were spoken with burning embers behind them; he knows he isn’t bluffing. 

He looks longingly across the dark expanses of the room. A room he may never lay eyes again. They catch on the uniforms, the gun, and the framed photos of Bruce, the family, and his Titan friends, and he knows he has to go. 

“Sorry Dickie,” he says quietly as he pulls out of his grasp and escapes through the window into the night. 

He can hear it _slam_ shut just as his feet hit the sidewalk below, the sound echoing out through the streets of Blüdhaven like an official public decree of the end of their relationship. 

If you could call that a relationship. 

This was what Jason had wanted, wasn’t it? 

He had tried and failed at staying away again and again and now he was finally left with no choice. He wouldn’t be able to hurt Dick anymore. This should be a good thing. 

So why did it feel like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life? 

With tightness in his chest and a pressure behind his eyes (which was caused by the cool night air and definitely not by any type of emotions), Jason got on his motorcycle and made the familiar trip back to Gotham on his own. 

Jason doesn’t think about Dick at all after that.

He busies himself with his work. There are plenty of wayward drug dealers, mobsters trying to skimp on Red Hood's cut, and plain old regular street thugs to deal with. If he deals with them a little more violently than usual, it has nothing to do with pent up emotions of guilt, regret, and loneliness. It's simply because they were bad men and they deserved a bit of extra punishment. 

Jason groans, pumping himself furiously as he thrusts up into his hand. There hadn't been enough criminal activity for him to vent his frustrations on today and he needs something to take the edge off before he can sleep. The tight grip and rapid pace he sets pull roughly against his skin but he doesn't care. He likes the sting. Relishes it. His hand speeds up, approaching his finish, and he reaches down to cup himself. He still can't quite get there though, needing a final push. 

It’s definitely not tanned skin, raven hair, and vibrant blue eyes that he envisions as he finally crashes over the edge, his release shooting hot across his chest. Jason's doing just fine and he's not thinking about Dick at all. 

_"So tell me little birdie, which hurts more: forehead or backhand?"_

_That haunting laugh reaches his ears and sends cold shivers up his spine. Jason sees the crowbar raised and flinches away. No. Not again._

_The crow bar swings down, that laugh still echoing all around him, but when it lands it's not Jason it strikes._

_Blood splatters all around them and Dick is flung across the warehouse floor. He whimpers in pain as he lands._

_No!_

_"Please, not him! He didn't do anything wrong!"_

_The sound of laughing drowns out his pleas. Jason reaches out to stop him, to rip the crowbar out of that nasty man's hands, but his body is paralyzed. He can't move a muscle._

_The Joker brings the crowbar down on Dick's body again and again, mutating it into a bloody pile of jagged limbs sticking out at all angles. Dick screams reverberate with each hit._

_Finally the clown stops, turning to Jason with a blood cuddling grin._

_"Remember Jason, this is all your fault."_

_Then the bomb goes off._

Jason sits up in the bed, the tail end of a scream still on his lips. The room he's in is dark and it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust so he can get grounded and stop shaking. He's in his home. He's safe. It was just another nightmare. 

He reaches under his pillow and tightly grasps the handle of his Kris anyways. 

Pushing sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead, he resigns himself to the fact that he isn't getting anymore sleep tonight. The sun will be up soon. May as well get an early start on his workout routine. 

Red Hood hates waiting. Live fast die young is his motto. Or something like that. Sitting still isn't part of the equation. Too much time alone without any action gives him too much time to _think_ and he doesn't want to think about anything right now because no matter how hard he tries he can't keep one certain person from fluttering around in his mind like an exquisite untouchable butterfly. So spending hours watching the street for a delivery truck that's yet to show is really not how he wants to be spending his evening. He'd started investigating this operation as a means to distract himself from said _certain person_ , not to give himself more time alone with his thoughts. Still, he's committed now and it's a job that needs to be done. 

He crushes out yet another cigarette under his boot with a little more force than necessary.

He's got half a mind to just get on his bike and go out looking for the damn thing himself when he hears the distant sound of a truck rumbling. _Finally_. He counts two thugs in the front of the truck. Them plus the eight he'd seen enter the warehouse earlier means he's going to be dealing with at least ten guys. It's no problem for Red Hood. 

None of the men he's seen so far tonight had the air (or the expensive threads) of authority though, so unless the head honcho was already inside well before Jason started his stakeout, he'll have to be careful to leave one of these goons alive to get some more intel. 

The truck pulls into the warehouse and a shuttered door slams down behind it. Time for Hood to make his move. 

Jason has never been big on the planning front. Sure he can do it if necessary, he's not a total idiot, but when given the choice he's much more of a "jump in and start shooting" kind of guy. It's what he does now, getting momentum on a grapple line and then smashing through a boarded up window. The men in the warehouse are shocked by his sudden and explosive arrival, reaching up to shield themselves from the falling glass instinctively. It creates a lovely opening for Jason. Half the men are on the ground before Jason is. He makes quick work of the rest, remembering his "leave one" rule at the last second and lowering the shot to the man's thigh instead of his head. A sickening crack echos and the man screams, tumbling to the ground. He may have hit bone. 

Jason doesn't really care. 

"Who are you working for?" he asks, gun still pointed at the pathetic crying creature trying to scoot away from him. 

"I don't know! I just drive the truck!" 

"Let's try this again," Jason says calmly, crouching down to press the barrel of his gun to the man's forehead."You tell me who you're working for and you live. Tell me again that you don't know and I pull the trigger. There's no need for me to keep you alive if you can't give me the info I need." 

Watery eyes look up at him, the man shakes, and hands clench around his injured leg. He seems to be weighing his options. As if he has any aside from "tell Red Hood what he wants to know" or "die". Finally he makes the right decision. 

"It's Carmine. He's the one running everything. He-" 

"Carmine?" Jason questions. He's not familiar with the name and he knows all the top scum off the Gotham underworld. 

"Y-yeah, him. Just starting to expand his business to Gotham. He works out of the 'haven." 

_Blüdhaven_. Jason's heart doesn't clench and stunning baby-blues don't come unbidden to his mind.

"But I'm just the driver, honest! I got nothing to do with anything. Please don't kill me!" the goon keeps rambling, as if he thinks he has any chance of getting on Jason's good side. 

"Just a driver huh?" Jason reiterates as he stands up, finally pulling his .45 from the man's skull. The man’s entire body practically wilts in relief. Jason thinks it's a bit preemptive. 

He stalks over to the truck, shooting the padlock on the back, and rips the doors open. 

"And what exactly is it that you're driving?" he asks coldly, turning slowly back to the driver. 

Children's bodies lay huddled in the truck bed. Jason reaches forward, peeling off a glove and feeling for a pulse. It's there, but weak. The kids are just drugged. For ease of transport. 

"This is your cargo but you think you're free of any guilt because you were 'just driving'?" 

Jason had promised not to kill the driver if he gave him the info and he's a man of his word. But he hadn't promised that the leg wound would be the only injury he's leaving with. 

_You go then you don’t come back. Ever._

Being unwelcome in a place has never stopped Jason from going somewhere before but… it's been weeks since he's been to Blüdhaven. It still feels wrong, forbidden, like even stepping foot in the city will cause the fury of the gods to rain down upon him. 

Still, he can't let a child trafficker run loose just because he's afraid to run into his ex- whatever he and Dick had been. After a few more days of stalling under the guise of gathering intel, he finally knows enough about Carmine that he could pass as his own brother if he'd wanted to. He can't put it off any longer. 

It should be a simple operation anyways. Carmine's office is located in Blüdhaven's Little Italy, on the fifth floor of an old building with it's entrance hidden in the back of the _Bello Italiano Ristorante_. Honestly it's a little cliche but Jason didn't expect any better. The only ounce of originality men like Carmine have is in the levels of depravity they'll sink to to make money. 

Despite his wealth of information, Jason doesn't bother himself with a complicated plan. 

Bust into the restaurant right as it's about to close and rush to the back after subduing the front staff. Fake as if he's using the elevator but actually run up the stairs. Take out the two stupid bodyguards who are waiting, guns pointed at the elevator doors, by sneaking up on them. 

Smash down the door to Carmine's office, and… 

Here is where the plan goes awry. 

His information said that Carmine didn't meddle in arms deals but apparently that hadn't stopped him from making sure that his personal bodyguards were fully loaded. Bullets rapidly spray his way as he crashes through the door. Jason narrowly rolls out of the way as they graze him. Shit shit shit he's done for, there's no cover-

Something barrels through the window behind Carmine's desk, glass spraying everywhere along with the bullets. The mobster cries out in surprise and the bodyguards turn to the unexpected source of commotion. Jason takes advantage of the chaos to topple a bookcase, ducking down to avoid a second round of ammunition. He has no idea what the hell just happened but he's grateful for the momentary distraction it caused. 

Seconds later someone comes flying over Jason's bookcase, landing in a graceful roll. Jason almost shoots before he's met with a familiar mess of black hair, a strong jaw, and a domino mask. 

Jason's heart stops. 

Nightwing huddles up next to him against the bookcase as another round of bullets fly over them. Jason sends a few shots back to keep them at bay but he can't get a good enough opening to actually _aim_ and take them out. 

"What are you doing here?" Dick yells out over the gunfire. 

No "Nice to see you _", "_ How have you been?", or "I think about you every day and I miss you so much that it _hurts_." No, Jason gets " _What are you doing here?_ ", as if he's intruding on Dick's space. Maybe he is. 

"I came to get Carmine. Not a fan of the child trafficking rings he's been setting up in Gotham," he responds, deciding now is not the time to argue nor to wear his heart on his sleeve, "What the hell did you think you were doing crashing in through the window like that?" 

Okay honestly, Jason's a little upset that he hadn't thought of that. It would have been a lot easier than running up five flights of stairs. 

"I heard gunfire. I had to make sure everyone was okay." 

Jason mentally face-palms. Of course self-sacrificing Goldie would crash into the middle of an unknown gun fight just in case he could save someone. 

"Well, I wouldn't really call myself okay at the moment," Jason retorts, shooting another blind round over the case, "got any bright ideas for saving me?" 

"I distract them, you take them out." 

Damn self-sacrificing, absolutely gorgeous, piece of- 

"And when I say 'take them out' I mean 'disarm', not 'kill them'."

Working with Dick always made things more complicated. He's not going to argue though. It's not like he has many options here and he is the one intruding on Dick's territory. There's no need to piss him off more than he already has just by showing up. 

"Okay. So what exactly are you going to do?" 

"Don't worry about me, just be ready." 

They sit with their backs to the bookcase, tension coursing through them as bullets continue to rain over their heads. The instant there's a lull in the gunfire Nightwing springs into action. 

"Now," he whispers to Jason and then he's flying out from behind the bookcase, flipping his way across the room. The gun fire restarts immediately but this time it's not aimed towards Red Hood. 

He pops up from behind the bookcase and with a clear shot he's able to take the bodyguards out immediately. He decides to take Dick's "disarm" comment literally and aims there. The bodyguards drop their guns and then fall to the ground crying like little babies. The room feels almost calm now that the explosive noise of their firearms has ceased. 

Dick and Jason kick the guns away from the body guards, Jason keeping one of his own held on them the whole time so they won't get any funny ideas. He keeps the other one pointed at Carmine who's seated stock still in shock at his desk. 

And here's the tricky part. He'd come here to kill the man. No more no less. 

"So what do we do now?" he asks Nightwing. The defeated mobsters look nervously between the two of them. Their glances at Nightwing seem almost hopeful; it's obvious they know their outcome will be better with the vigilante than with Red Hood. 

"You said human trafficking?" 

" _Child trafficking_ ," Jason grits out. Dick is polite enough to make a face of disgust. 

"So I'm sure you have evidence of it, right Red Hood? We turn it over to the police and let them deal with it." 

Jason groans. 

"Yeah I got evidence but I ain't exactly carrying it around in a nearly organized file folder here. Just let me do it my way. It'll be quick." 

The mobsters tense, pleading eyes flying to Nightwing. Jason knows Dick will never actually allow him to kill them. And Dick knows that he won't kill them while he's there. But they don't know that, and Jason's hoping Dick will be smart enough to help him use that in their favor. 

"Do you think there's any evidence here in this office we could show the police?" Dick muses in a voice that lets Jason know he's caught on. They really do work well together after all. 

"You won't find nothing!" Carmine grinds out, somehow misinterpreting just how terrible of a situation he's gotten himself into. 

"Well, we can't just let them go free with an accusation like that," Nightwing continues as if the man hadn't spoken. "I guess I'll just leave them in your care and entrust that you'll get them to the Gotham police later after you've gotten your evidence organized."

"Oh you can count on me Nightwing. I'll take _good care of them_." 

The proper amount of fear returns to Carmine's eyes now as Nightwing makes his way back towards the broken window as if to leave. 

"Wait, wait! You can't leave me with this maniac, please! I've got files! Sales slips, tracking records. I'll give myself up to the police, just please let me live!" 

They've got him. 

Nightwing and Red Hood watch silently from the rooftop as the police take away Carmine and his men. Now that the adrenaline of the fight is wearing off Jason is becoming acutely aware of the awkwardness of standing next to the person who the last time they'd seen each other had all but declared that he never wanted to see Jason again. The same person who hasn't left Jason's mind for a single moment since then. 

He has half a mind to just turn and leave but he knows he has to say something. What that something will be he doesn't know but he's already established that plans weren't his strong suit. He'll have to just trust his gut and hope for the best. 

Jason turns to Dick but whatever he was going to say dies on his lips because the next second the vigilante is crumbling forward, leaning heavily on the wall which runs along the edge of the roof. 

"Nightwing!" 

He rushes forward, trying to grab Dick's arm to support him, but the other man shies away, curling in on himself. 

"Nightwing?" 

"It's nothing. I was shot. It went clean through, no bone. It's not a big deal." 

Jason scans his body and finally notices the sleeve of his uniform is completely soaked, the blood blending in with the darkness of the suit. _Not a big deal_. Jason should have known it was impossible for Dick to avoid a bullet while acting as a distraction with the firepower those mobsters were packing. Even if he was the great Nightwing, it had just been too much to avoid at once. And of course he'd tried to hide it because he was _Dick_ and he has to bear every burden alone. 

He has half a mind to launch into lecture mode but that is a lot of blood and Dick is starting to look pale. 

"Back to your apartment. Now. I'm patching you up." 

They make the journey back in silence. Jason’s practically carrying Dick by the end, the older man's body weak with blood loss. He feels a strange sense of foreboding when they land on the fire escape, the sound of that window slamming still echoing in his ears. He's just here to patch Dick up. That's all. Then he'll leave again. 

The thought of it doesn't make his heart ache. Not at all. 

Dick clamors shakily through the window ahead of him and Jason follows. One step into the dark apartment and he finds himself tripping, narrowly avoiding falling flat on his face. Dick flicks the lightswitch on and Jason sees the problem. It looks like a hurricane had been through here; dirty clothes, stacks of papers, and takeout boxes are everywhere. 

"Jesus Dick. It's like you haven't cleaned since I left," he comments in amazement. He's always known Dick to be a bit messy, but this is a new level. 

"I've been busy. Besides, not like I had anyone to impress anyways." Dick grinds out bitterly. 

Was the state of his apartment before supposed to have been _impressing_ Jason? 

"If you're going to help me then help me," he continues, leading the way to the bathroom on shaky legs. He pauses to toss his escrima sticks on top of a pile of laundry on the way. Jason follows, similarly tossing his helmet down since Dick's room is apparently a free for all. 

Dick's leaning back in the tub when Jason enters, suit already pulled down to his waist. Bright red rivlets run down his right arm and for one terrifying second Jason has a flashback to a strange nightmare he'd had recently of Dick's body covered in blood. 

He shakes it off and busies himself with grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink. He's very familiar with where Dick keeps it. 

By the time he's back to the tub Dick had used the shower head to rinse off most of the blood. Jason avoids his now un-masked eyes because he needs focus on taking care of his injury as quickly as possible, _not_ because he's scared that one glance will have him hopelessly falling back into their depths. He can see the wound clearly now on Dick's bicep, still bleeding profusely but not as bad as Jason had feared. He wraps a tourniquet around his upper arm and rinses the wound out with water again before preparing to stitch it up. 

"You need pain killers?" he asks, even though he already knows Dick's answer. 

"No, I can handle it." 

Of course he can. Dick Grayson can handle everything. Everything except the pathetic mess that is Jason Todd. 

Dick grunts as Jason starts the first stitch. He's not immune to the pain, even if he can tolerate it. The little hitches in Dick’s breath that come with each pierce of the needle are distracting but Jason tries to ignore them and make quick work of the wound. 

"You're all set," he tells Dick when the wound is fully closed and the bleeding has stopped. He's tempted to lay a kiss against the injury but resists the urge. Instead he just looks up finally meeting Dick's eyes for the first time without the mask. What he finds there shocks him. Sapphire blue eyes are rimmed in dark circles, sunken in, and full of exhaustion. Not the kind that comes from one hard night but from night after night, week after restless week. 

"What the hell Dickie? You look like shit. You need to take better care of yourself." 

The filter between Jason's brain and his mouth was destroyed by the Lazarus pit apparently. If he'd had one to begin with.

"Yeah, well, in case you didn't notice, I was just _shot_ ," he replies with irritation. 

"No, I mean, your eyes. When was the last time you got any sleep?" 

Dick's hands clench into tight fists, a sure sign Jason has just gotten himself into a fight. 

"For your information I'm _fine,_ Jason. What do you care anyways? My well-being never seemed to be on the top of your priority list before." 

If Dick was a match then Jason was gasoline, responding to his anger and suddenly caught alight. Weeks of regret and frustration blaze up in a green tint, raging inside him. His already paper thin brain to mouth filter goes up in smoke. 

"For your information I _do_ care about you, dumbass. You happy now? You got me to admit it. So stop being an idiot and go get some damn rest!" 

“If you care so much then you have a real piss-poor way of showing it.”

Jason growls in frustration. He wishes he could just beat some sense into Dick’s skull. 

“I just said I cared didn’t I? What more do you want from me?” 

“Then why do you always _leave_?” 

Jason jerks back as if one of those fists had actually struck. A moment of tense silence falls over them as he gathers the will to respond to that question. He knows the answer but he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. The hurt and anger in Dick’s voice just confirm what Jason always knew. 

“Cause I’m a fuck up, okay? I’m no good for you Dick. But just because you deserve better doesn’t mean that I can’t still care about you.” 

Jason can’t look at Dick’s face after his admission. He doesn’t know what he’ll find there. His hand twitches at his side, longing to reach into his jacket and pull out a cig. 

“Jay, you… you like me?” Dick finally responds, fiery fury quelled into silent awe. 

_Like him_? Well Jason isn’t in third grade so that probably isn’t the way he would put it but yeah, he does. The fact is irrelevant though because Jason is still Jason and Dick is still Dick. And Jason is getting dangerously close to getting Dick’s hopes up again.

“It doesn’t matter. We can’t be together.” 

“And why not? You like me, I like you. If you just pulled your head out of your ass-” 

"And how exactly is it supposed to work between us? You know the reason I came here tonight was to take care of Carmine-" 

"You mean to kill him." 

"Exactly my point, Goldie. You good, me bad, how much more clearly can it be spelled out for you?" 

"Our methods may be different but I know you're not a bad person, Little Wing."

"Try telling that to B." 

"He'll come around. He just needs more time." 

"It's not just about him. This can't work." 

"How do you know when you won't even try?" 

Dick’s last statement is punctuated with exasperation and Jason has to look away again, because if not he’s sure those steely blue eyes would be carving guilt into his body. Dick wants Jason to try but he has, again and again, and all he’s ever done is disappoint him. 

“I have tried-” 

“You’ve _left_. Every single time. Without an explanation. That’s not trying Jay.” 

Turns out Dick doesn’t need the baby blues to make him feel guilty after all.

“What do you want from me?” 

“I want you to come over to my place, eat pizza, make jokes, make love, and then _be there_ in the morning when I wake up. I want us to trust each other, look out for each other, tell each other when something hurts. I want to _be with you_ Jason, and not just for the night.” 

Jason aches. He wants all that with Dick, always secretly has. For all his sweet words though, there still seem to be too many obstacles in the way. 

“Bruce won’t approve.” 

“This is _our_ relationship, Jay. We don’t need others’ approval,” Dick counters stubbornly. 

“My gangs…” 

He can’t throw away all his hard work, not even for Dick's affection. Despite what Batman or Nightwing think, Jason is still convinced that his way is the right way to go about cleaning up Gotham. He’s not about to abandon his carefully built underground empire. 

“I’m not asking you to quit being Red Hood or anything like that. I’m just asking you to be with me. We’ll figure things out.” 

“You’re okay with dating a criminal?” Jason asks, because Dick’s sweet words are starting to sound a little too good to be true. 

“May I remind you, technically vigilantism is a criminal act too. The world isn't black and white Little Wing. Look at what you did today. We made a good team, right? You helped me take care of Carmine without killing. And you patched me up when you didn't have to. You are good for me Jay. Stop trying to make excuses for why we can't be together and just try _being_ with me. You don't have to be scared." 

Scared? Was Jason scared? 

_"Remember Jason, this is all your fault,"_ vestiges of his dream echoed in his head. 

"What if you get hurt because of me?" Jason whispers, finally admitting his greatest fear aloud. "What if I hurt you?" 

"I'm tough Jay," Dick tells him sweetly, reaching his good arm up to cup Jason's face. He meets blue eyes, heart fluttering with hope. 

"If I get hurt I can handle it. And as long as I know you're there for me I don't have to worry." 

"Dickie…" 

"Jay." 

They both lean forward, lips meeting in the middle. The side of the tub is a barrier between them but Jason doesn’t care, ignoring the porcelain jutting into his hips as he pulls Dick in as close as possible. It’s like he’s drowning and Dick is his air. He needs him with every fiber of his being. He hadn’t realized just how badly he’d missed Dick until now that he’s tasting him again. 

Jason carries Dick back into the bedroom, their mouths still engaged in a passionate tango. When they reach the bed he pulls back, eyes drawn to Dick’s flushed red lips wet with Jason’s saliva. Then they flicker up to meet Dick’s dark-rimmed eyes and he’s forcibly reminded of the vigilante’s utter exhaustion piled on top of blood loss.

“You need rest, Dickie. Let’s just go to sleep. We don’t have to do anything tonight.” 

“No, Jason. I missed you. Please. I want to,” Dick begs him, a look of longing in his eyes that Jason can’t deny. 

“Okay, okay, I’ve got you.” He shushes his partner and lays him on the bed softly. 

He works him open, slow and gentle. His fingers slip in one at a time, pressing firmly into that spot he can still find effortlessly as he drinks in Dick’s soft moans. When he finally penetrates him Jason takes his time. He holds Dick’s body close, mindful of his injury, as he slowly sinks all the way inside him. Instead of the quick, frantic thrusts that the two of them are used to, he grinds his hips softly in waves. When he does begin to thrust, he doesn’t rush; he allows Dick to feel every inch of him as he drags his cock out slowly, and angles his hips to hit that sweet spot every time he pushes back in. Before long Dick is coming across their bellies, cock trapped between their tightly pressed bodies. Jason follows soon after, moaning into Dick’s soft mouth as he releases inside of him. 

After getting them cleaned up, Jason settles into the bed to find wide blue orbs staring his way. 

“You’re staying this time, right?” Dick asks in a whisper, fingertips tracing hesitantly over Jason’s collarbone. He never wants to make Dick feel as lost as he sounds right now ever again. 

“I’m staying,” he replies firmly, grasping those fingers and pressing soft kisses against them, “Someone’s gotta make sure you take care of yourself after all. Sorry Dickie but it looks like you’re going to be stuck with me for a while.” 

Dick grins, wide and genuine, and Jason feels its warmth wash over him. 

“Good night, Little Wing,” he says, settling his palm over Jason’s chest and scooching in closer beside him. 

“Good night, Dickie.” 

Jason watches him until he falls asleep, once again admiring the rise and fall of his chest and the peaceful way his face settles. Outside the sun is starting to rise, the pale hues of dawn just visible through the window. Jason closes his eyes and lets Dick’s steady breaths lull him to sleep knowing that when he awakens the room will be bathed in light and he will still be there by Dick’s side. 


End file.
